The Game
by Chaslin
Summary: The Divines and the Daedra finally decide a way to end their bitter hostilities: they are each to become mortal and battle on Nirn, the last surviving faction will be restored to their immortality. Chaos, blood and death ensure.
1. Prologue: The Crossroads

**The Game **

**An Oblivion Fan-Fic**

By Chaslin

**Disclaimer**: I claim none of Oblivion's properties; I make no profit from the writing of this story.

**Author's Note: **This is just the prologue to the story I'm gonna write. I've got the plot and the like figured out, but not the main characters names. If you've got ideas, pm me. I'll have a character thread opened shortly after this. You don't need to read this, but if you haven't played the game, it's recommended you do. Throughout the story, you may need to go back here as all the Daedric Princes and Nine Divines are mentioned in this chapter.

**Prologue: The Crossroads**

-Twenty-Seven Immortals-

At first, there was only the eternal darkness of the void, ever-consuming and more dangerous than anything to ever be created, Sithis. Slowly but surely, gods appeared. This is how every creation story starts, but as they progress, they get further and further from the truth. Lorkhan either tricked or convinced the Gods into making Nirn and was punished for it, his heart thrown to its far reaches where it became the Red Mountain. Some of the Gods were disgusted with Nirn and left, while others were content, and decided to help all they had created.

Those who stayed were called the Aedra by the High Elves, which means 'ancestors', and those who left became the 'Daedra', which simply means 'not our ancestors.' Eventually the Aedra were worshipped as Gods, and they became the Eight, which became Nine when the great Emperor Tiber Septim ascended. The Nine Divines guided and watched over the Empire, but the Daedric Princes were fascinated by Nirn and its unpredictable inhabitants. Some grew to worship the Daedra and were treated as outcasts, while other cultures rejoiced with the Daedra. After the Oblivion Crisis, when Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction, invaded Nirn and was defeated by Akatosh, The King of Gods and Lord of Time, it was agreed their destructive war had gone on long enough. A meeting is called.

Azura entered the Crossroads ever so gracefully, climbing carefully from the Portal from her own Realm, Moonshadow. She had chosen the form of a beautiful woman, as she usually did, dressed in a blue gown with silver embroidery running along its sleeves, a hood rising from the back of the dress and clothed the top of her face in darkness, but her perfect chin and lips hinted at great beauty. She had a fondness for beauty and desire, it went well with manipulation.

Azura, the Daedric Prince of Dawn and Dusk, Mother of the Rose and Queen of the Night Sky, took her time to examine the Crossroads. No one knew what it was, it wasn't a Realm of Oblivion, yet it was separate from Nirn, the mortal plane. It was just two roads, crossing one another, at a powerful lamp. It would have a mighty light in any Realm, but it did little to stop the enormous darkness outside. Its light seemed so feeble against that darkness, flickering weakly. No one knew what it was, or why it was there, but Azura knew. Azura knows all, and tells nothing, was the old saying of the Dunmer in Morrowind. She despised the creatures.

Breaking herself from her chain of thought, she took her time to examine those who had beaten her here. She was never one to arrive early, or late, but she preferred making a dramatic entrance. It was too serious a situation to be thinking about that now. A tall, physically fit man whose whole head was obscured by a deer skull with long antlers was standing silently next to the lamp post, leaning on an enormous spear while a wolf patrolled gracefully at his legs. The Daedric Prince Hircine, the Huntsman and Father of Manbeasts. Across the road and dangerously close to the darkness, was an old woman with a wrinkled face, broken nose and forever frown on her face. She was speaking to a tall, darkly beautiful woman with hair down to her hips, black as a raven, and beautifully curved hips that seemed to move with evil intentions. The old woman was the Daedric Prince Nocturnal, the Night Mistress, who ruled over night and darkness. The woman she was speaking to was none other than the Daedric Prince Namira, the Spirit Daedra, ruler of sundry dark and shadowy spirits. Azura personally hated all three of them; Hircine was over-confident, always planning for his 'Great Hunt' he held every era, Nocturnal and Namira were always conspiring and always put themselves in as much darkness as possible.

Directly across from her was a heavily armoured man with a sword at his hip, a dark and beautiful face. He hailed Azura and moved with deadly grace as he went to embrace her. The Daedric Prince Boethiah, Lord of deceit, conspiracy, secret plots of murder, assassination, treason, and unlawful overthrow of authority. Azura embraced him like an old brother, giving him a small smile. Surprisingly, a small figure moved from behind him, darkness covering her like a cloak. It was impossible to tell if it was a woman, but Azura preferred thinking of Mephala like that. Daedric Princes did not have genders, but they did have forms they preferred choosing, Azura preferred being female, Boethiah male and Mephala, the mysterious Webspinner, chose random genders. The three of them were allies, in a way, none of them trusted one another, but they had experience together. They had crafted the Dunmer, having them rebel against their old masters, the Ayelids, and they lead them to Morrowind.

Suddenly, a 'whooshing' noise sounded throughout the crossroads, quickly disappearing into the blackness of the void outside. A silvery line cut through thin air and gradually parted, revealing a hanging picture of a red mist. The Daedric Princes stared at it a moment before a giant green creature stepped out of it, wielding a heavy axe and giving the others disgusted looks. Malacath, he called himself a Prince, but he was weak, created when Boethiah ate a hero of the Ayelids. He was the Keeper of the Sworn Oath and the Bloody Curse, the patronage of the spurned and ostracized. Malacath was a loner. The massive orc gave another angry look to the Princes before moving over to the side of the road, staring into the void.

The Princes had barely started up their talking again when a similar display followed as the last of the Princes entered the Crossroads; Mehrunes Dagon, Prince of Destruction, a tall, red monstrosity with spikes and horns growing from his arms, Meridia, the mysterious bane of the necromancer and rumoured to be the daughter of the sun, dressed in a colourful dress while taking the form of a pretty girl with golden skin, Peryite, the Taskmaster, the weakest of them all, besides Malacath perhaps, as usual taking the form of a human-sized green dragon, Vaermina, Daedric Prince of nightmares and dreams, dressed in a black robe and a race eternally trapped in its last moments of life, even Mehrunes Dagon turned away from that. Then came Jyggalag, Daedric Prince of Order, once, long ago, the other Daedric Princes had been scared of his power and turned him into Sheogorath, the thing he hated most. But the Champion of Cyrodiil, no less, came and killed Sheogorath. Jyggalag was returned to his old position, while the Champion was turned into Sheogorath. And now, as the tall man clothed in flawless steel armour looked over them, Azura felt a chill. Would Jyggalag exact revenge for what they had done? She didn't know.

More Princes entered, a small man with horns growing from his head followed by a dog the same size of himself, Clavicus Vile, Daedric Prince of granting wishes and power. Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of scrying of the tides of Fate, of the past and future as read in the stars and heavens, and in whose dominion are the treasures of knowledge and memory, a giant squid like creature with crab claws. Sanguine, Daedric Prince of hedonistic revelry and debauchery, and passionate indulgences of darker natures, a fat, drunken man with a whore under his thumb. The fearsome and dangerous Molag Bal, Daedric Prince of the domination and enslavement of humans, King of Rape and collector of souls, he appeared as a giant man with a fearsome crocodile head. He went over to stand with Mehrunes Dagon and Vaermina. Another portal opened, and a banker stepped out, dressed handsomely in a coat and breeches, a well-polished stick in his hand. He whistled a merry tune as the portal closed behind him, happily gazing into the eternal darkness. Sheogorath, the once Champion of Cyrodiil, vanquisher of Mehrunes Dagon, and now the King of Madness.

They were all there now, the seventeen Daedric Princes. Azura, Boethiah and Mephala. Clavicus Vile, Hermaeus Mora, Hircine and Jyggalag. Mehrunes Dagon, Malacath, Molag Bal and Vaermina. Meridia, Namira and Nocturnal. Peryite, Sanguine and Sheogorath. Daedric Princes, all of them, yet they fought like petty mortals. That's what they were here to discuss. They faced each other dramatically, carefully analysing each other. Mehrunes Dagon stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, when they came.

A white, blinding light that illuminated the Crossroads that pushed the eternal darkness back. Nine shapes of light landed on the path, a massive golden dragon aspiring awe in even Azura herself. Akatosh, God of Time and King of the Nine Divines, stared Mehrunes Dagon down. The great Prince took more than a few paces backwards. Akatosh, Dibella, Goddess of Beauty, Arkay, God of the Eternal Cycle, Zenithar, God of Work and Commerce, Mara, Goddess of Love, Stendarr, God of Mercy, Kynareth, Goddess of Air, Julianos, God of Wisdom and Logic and Talos, the mortal man who ascended to god-hood, the Warrior God.

The Nine Divines stared at the Daedric Princes for a while, their eternal eyes piercing into their unholy skin. Azura hated this feeling, the feeling of being humbled, of fear, of a greater power. She was unused to it. Finally, Akatosh spoke, his voice boomed through the darkness of the Void, through Sithis himself.

"We have come to end the bloodshed, the constant feuding we have battled on Nirn, throwing innocent lives away," Akatosh boomed, his mouth didn't even seem to move. "It is eternal and will never end, unless we have an agreement."

The Daedric Princes, one by one, mumbled their agreement. Azura couldn't care less how many mortals died, she did not battle like Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon did, she used cunning and guile. She single handily pulled down an entire religion of the Dunmer for a wrong they once committed to her, and she still wasn't done with them.

Akatosh continued, "We propose a Game, Daedric Princes and Gods alike will be reborn on Nirn as mortals. They will be cut off from their Realms, if they die on Nirn, they will permanently end. The Game will end when one faction is completely destroyed, be it the Nine or the Princes. What say you?"

Azura was horrified, mortality? It was strange and unusual to her, the idea of actually dying, ending permanently, being thrown into Sithis was terrifying. Then again, if she could just hide and outlive the others, the Nine would be dead fairly quickly without any harm coming to her, and she would then finish her weaker brethren. It could work to her advantage. She raised her hand in agreement, and was surprised to find that the other Princes raised their hands with her, Peryite staring at them all blankly, then slowly raising his tail in agreement.

"Let the Game begin."


	2. Alain

**The Game**

**An Oblivion Fan-Fic**

By Chaslin

**Disclaimer**: I claim none of Oblivion's properties; I make no profit from the writing of this story.

**Warnings**: Language and Violence

**Author's Note**: Thanks for all the Reviews from the Prologue. I read them all and have kept them in mind as I wrote this most recent chapter. Sorry it took so long, had some computer troubles.

**Chapter 1: Elmwood Village**

-Two Divines and a Prince-

The brown rabbit crawled out of its burrow, raising its nose in the air to sniff the early morning air, as it did every morning. The fresh smells of the morning dews and the early spring drifted around the glade, the rabbit could smell the wood of the tall oak trees that made the light forest and more importantly, it could smell the fresh mint of the surrounding bushes. Waves of serenity and peace washed over the rabbit, the only sound echoing through the forest being the cries of a nearby bird. The rabbit hopped through the undergrowth, moving quickly through the bushes and carefully avoiding leaves and twigs, finally emerging from the bushes into a small clearing.

A fallen log laid in the center of the clearing, and on it a strange man watched the rabbit intently, slowly drawing a knife from a leather belt. But he paused for a vital moment, as if considering, as if arguing with himself, allowing the rabbit to retreat back into the undergrowth and its burrow.

Alain frowned furiously as the rabbit scurried away, placing his curved knife back into its sheath. He was hungry and broke, anyone could tell that from his scruffy, unkempt brown hair and dirty skin. His tattered leather armour probably added to the appearance of a poor adventurer or mercenary, but the sheer quality of his curved knife, a sharp Elvish blade, and the enchantments on his steel longsword suggested otherwise. The sword sat at his feet, still in its sheath, hilt bound in leather strips. It was an Ebony Longsword, enchanted to deal major burns to its target. Alain's piercing jade eyes glared into the foliage of the forest while he angrily muttered to himself; this was the third time today that Akatosh had stopped him.

"We could have killed it," Alain murmured. "We could have had a full belly tonight, we could of eaten [bsomething[/b not a plant at least for today." He started stroking the hilt of his dagger again, his leather boots kicking his sword slightly as he waited impatiently for a reply. Finally, it came.

[i "Yes, Alain, we could have killed it, but we didn't. It would directly break my agreement with Kynareth," [/i Akatosh's voice boomed through Alain's head, leaving a slight ringing in his ears.[i "I have told you this before, Alain, that we cannot kill or provoke a beast of nature unless it attacks us first, and even then, we must leave its meat for others."[/i The One finished his speech and stayed silent, as if waiting to watch Alain's reaction. Not for the first time and definitely not for the last, Alain wondered what ill fortune landed him with the bad luck to have a Divine inside his head. Perhaps he was mad? Touched by Sheogorath himself? He could only speculate.

He did know of Akatosh's and Kynareth's agreement, she wouldn't of accepted Akatosh's proposal without it. About thirty years ago, according to Akatosh, all the Daedric Princes and the Divines agreed to become mortals and battle one another. While the One was sure the Princes and even some of the Divines would destroy the mind and soul of their host body, the One had not. For what purpose, Alain did not know and frankly didn't care. He would have ignored the Divine his entire life and gone on, pretending the voice didn't exist, but the One had the power to seize control of his body and Alain didn't have nearly enough willpower to fight it. Because of the Divine, he never stole without a good cause and had never killed an innocent. But because of the Divine, he had tossed every Septim he owned to beggars, given items for free to poor merchants and had thrown himself into harm's way on more than one occasion just because a struggling farmer wished it. Some would rejoice with the thought of a Deity inside their heads, Alain had no such illusions.

The Imperial sighed, rubbing a stubby beard with impatience. He was only this sour because Esland and Rain were late. The sky was darkening, and the first few stars of night had appeared. Both of them had gone out to scout a nearby village and see if they could steal any food for themselves, they were both somewhat surprised at his refusal to kill animals and though they tried, they couldn't hunt for themselves. Alain would have gone with them, but Esland had openly refused, claiming "You can't put all your eggs in one basket." So the Imperial was left alone in the woods, left to contemplate the voice inside his head.

A loud [icrack[/i brought Alain out of his trance, and he quickly looked into the trees, where the noise had come from. And as expected, a Breton dressed in a dark brown robe was looking down at the ground in shame, his leather boot lying in the middle of a snapped stick. Esland was never one for stealth, or hunting, like most of his race he was Wizard, fairly decent at Destruction and Restoration. Emerging from the shadows, a Bosmer stepped forward, glaring angrily over his green bandanna, green fur armour seeming to disappear into the forest. Rain, a skilled thief who had turned outlaw following his escape from the Skingrad prison, and then eventually mercenary. Akatosh disapproved of the Bosmer because of his great passion for wealth but Alain could only associate with the Elf, he would of turned out like him as well if fate hadn't intervened. Esland straightened to speak, but Rain beat him to it.

"Elmwood Village, about twenty houses and a population of about forty," Rain told him quickly, jumping from foot to foot with an impatience much like Alain's. "Mayor Greenwich governs the village and they have little to no contact with the outside world. The only buildings of interest are the blacksmith and the local inn, The Hungry Snake, which happens to have a very friendly innkeeper, Madam Bell, a respectable woman to be sure…" Rain trailed off as his eyes light up, making Alain wonder how long she would be respectable. Esland shook his head sadly at Rain, the Breton had always found women to only distract him from his work, and he held true to his beliefs, even in the woods.

"What Rain didn't mention is that we can have free lodgings in the stables, in exchange for a little light show by yours truly," Esland bowed in such a way that he seemed to be a mighty battlemage from the stories, instead of a poor wizard with some skill in Illusion. "The people there are so bored they'll be speaking about me for months to come."

"Unless a juggler happens to come this way," Rain cut in. "I would rather watch someone throw around a few balls than see your light show." The Bosmer paused as he rethought his words, than started laughing. "Throw around some balls," he explained while he held his gut and leaned on a Pine tree. Esland only spared him a pitiful glare before turning back to Alain with a hopeful smile on his face, though the Breton rarely complained, he was used to sleeping in a soft bed and after weeks in the woods, he would settle for a bit of hay as his pillow.

Alain held up his hands, "Fine. We rest at Elmwood village for a few days before we start again." Rain and Esland both smiled weakly, they didn't know about The Game or the voice inside his head. But they both had to help him, they had vowed so long ago, and they didn't even know where they were going. Frankly, neither did he.

Elmwood Village was situated on a large hill so it overlooked the Golden Woods; no one knows why it was called the "Golden" Woods, or who did it. The Woods had certainly not supplied the village with any riches over the years, other than its isolation from the war-stricken Empire. It was dark by the time the three of them entered the village, but it was still bustling with people. The village seemed to consist mostly of Nords and Imperials, and Alain had spotted a Dunmer hurrying inside the Inn. They all stared at the newcomers, as if they had never seen outsiders before. The walk to the Inn was long and uncomfortable as the crowd parted for them, gaping in wonder at the Bosmer and the Breton and gawking at Alain's sword. Finally, the largest building in the village came into view. Two stories high and made out of fine timber as opposed to the rest of the villages cracked stone houses. A sign hung from above its door, showing a serpent eating what appeared to be a rabbit and The Hungry Serpent was written below it.

Rain boldly strode into the Inn, pushing the door aside, immediately moving to the counter to see Madam Bell, no doubt. Esland followed him, while Alain brought up the rear. He blinked his eyes rapidly, because of the sudden change of light, he had gone temporarily blind. As he regained his vision, Alain took the time to examine the Inn and its occupants. There were about five tables in the room, all full with occupants eager to see the upcoming light show. Judging by their clothes and their manners, most where either farmers or lumberjacks, but they all gave a cheer when they saw the Breton enter. The Wizard smiled weakly, before walking up to a makeshift stand at the front of the room. The counter was at the back, where a rosy cheeked woman was happily smiling at Rain, but shaking her head at the same time. The few maids, when they weren't preoccupied with fighting off a drunken Nord or refilling glasses, gave her angry glares for her lack of work. She was undoubtedly Madam Bell.

Alain made his way across the room, carefully slipping in between the huge drunken Nordic brutes as he attempted to find a seat. As he was struggling to slip past a rather fat Imperial, probably a merchant, and a huge drunken Nord, he felt Akatosh slip a rein around his eyes rather quickly. For the first time, the Divine's voice seemed hushed and excited, entirely different from his usual slow and wise drawl. [i_ "Stop, Alain. To the right, the woman…"_[/i Alain obeyed and looked over to his right, peering past the fat Imperial. A plump woman, probably in her early-thirties, sat at a table by herself in the corner. She had rosy red hair done up in a bun at the back of her head, and was dressed in a red silk dress and a single ruby ring on her right index finger. He only noticed these things because of his time as a pitiful thief in Kvatch, pitiful because of Akatosh's need to constantly donate to the poor. Most notably about the woman though, was the single rare white rose in her hand, which she laid against her wineglass.

Alain made his way over to her and sat down across from her, which only made her raise an eyebrow. When Alain made no move to speak to her, she let go of the rose briefly to tap her lips. Finally she spoke, in a soft, motherly voice. "Tell me child, would you like to play a game?"

Alain's eyebrows shot to the roof, the woman, a Nord he now recognised, was no older than him. More than that, she just said something that sounded like it was straight out of a scary bard's tale. Alain was now starting to get scared by this woman, partly because of what she said and partly because she was a Nord, and she was drinking wine. No Nord would be caught dead drinking wine out of anything except a flagon. But Akatosh drew rein on him, not necessarily seizing his mind, but he took his tongue and his mouth.

"I play one as we speak," Alain, or rather Akatosh, replied. The voice was very different from Alain's usual coarse, yet strong tone. This was a loud, booming sound that spoke of both authority and power, a voice that demanded obedience. Alain would never of dreamt of him wielding such a voice, but it happened more than once. Frankly it scared the Imperial; the very idea of somebody's voice in his own body scared him as much as seeing Mehrunes Dagon in the flesh. Not that he ever had, but Akatosh's descriptions had given him more than a few nightmares.

The Nord woman smiled openly at Alain, or Akatosh, and tapped the white rose against the wine glass. "I am a Mother of Nine," she told him, twirling the white rose in her fingers as if in thought, or anticipation.

Alain could feel Akatosh smile in his mind, as if the Divine was bubbling with pleasure. The Imperial couldn't make heads or tails out of the conversation and wondered what Rain and Esland were doing. Out of the corner of his eye he could see flashes of green, red, yellow and white, along with roars of lions, a snake hissing and something that sounded like a elephant falling on the ground. Obviously Esland was doing his light show and by the clapping and roaring of the audience, he was fairly good. Madam Bell was still at the counter, watching the light display, but Rain was no where to be seen. Alain started to listen in on the conversation again; it seemed the two had been speaking in riddles for a while now. But now the woman across from him was positively beaming at them and whispered something so faint Alain was half-sure he had imagined it.

"Akatosh."

Alain gave a start; the woman knew who they were. Their cover was blown, his hand flew to his curved dagger as he made towards her, but the One seized control of his arm, stopping his half unsheathed weapon. The Imperial felt a sudden rage towards the Divine; it was their duty to slay this woman. She knew and she threatened their safety, but he felt mercy, no, pity, now? Duty was duty, morals could come later. Alain was given the impression of Akatosh shaking his head, his slow, booming voice echoing throughout the recesses of his mind.

_No Alain, its her. Its Mara._

Rain sat in the alleyway behind the Hungry Serpent, leaning against the stone wall of its opposite building. The once crowded streets were now empty, as people were either sleeping in home or watching Esland's light display. He would rather spend the night with Madam Bell, but she was more interested in the mysterious and wonderful wizard rather than a outlaw such as himself. It often happened, but not so often it could be called frequent. After she spoke to the Breton, she would come crawling back to his dashing and handsome Bosmer personality.

He ran a hand through his messy black hair as he pulled his green bandanna up. He had kept it down since they arrived in the village, but the dust from the unpaved streets was messing with his sinuses, threatening a sneezing fit. He sighed and stretched his shoulders, looking up at the night sky. It was a cloudy night, but he could make out the constellation of the Warrior and the crescent moon. Shaking his head, Rain exited the alleyway into the street.

Rain stopped suddenly, a fellow Bosmer stood in the center of the street, as if he was waiting for him. He was short, even for a Bosmer, and Rain guessed he was up to his shoulder. A hound stood at the Bosmer's feet, a greyhound about half his size. The Bosmer appeared wealthy, dressed in a fancy black coat and breeches with golden embroidery. He didn't appear to hold any weapons, or a leash, which suggested he trusted his greyhound fully.

"Greetings friend," the Bosmer spoke suddenly and unexpectedly and like most of the race, the voice was high and squeaky. "I am Tamier and I happen to own a certain ring." Tamier raised a hand to reveal a plain, golden ring, but his eyes never left Rain. "I am looking to get rid of it, and you seem a nice enough fellow, would you take it? I could only entrust this ring to a Bosmer."

Rain scratched his head as he examined Tamier curiously, why would someone want to get rid of a ring, unless it was cursed? But Tamier seemed to handle it with ease, so it suggested he was not afraid of it. Perhaps when they reached a city, Rain could sell the ring and they could have a proper meal. He nodded and held out his hand for the ring, "Thank you Tamier."

Tamier only smiled and dropped the ring into his palm before turning around and walking down the street, loyal greyhound trailing behind. The night quickly consumed them, but a merry whistle could be heard as Tamier continued into the shadow covered village.

He felt like a walk, to get away from the village, Madam Bell and Esland. Alain was so demanding, telling them to cross the continent with only their trust in him, refusing to kill any creature of the forest even though he was the only half-decent hunter. He had sacrificed every Septim they had to beggars, and constantly saved farmers from goblins and infestations of rats just for a pat on the head. Rain could respect a man of morals, but when he stole his coin and his bread, that was the final straw. Why had he sworn that oath to Alain? It seemed like a good idea at the time. He was still thinking about his past mistakes when he left the boundaries of the village and entered the long grassed fields surrounding it. Clouds moved, and the moon revealed itself in its full glory, bathing Rain in light.

Goblin Jim knelt in the cover of the forest, white-skinned goblins surrounding him. Though he couldn't see them, he knew there were more of them, much more of them, moving through the long grass, heading towards the village his masters called Elmwood. He didn't care for human names, despite the fact he was an Imperial himself. But he was Goblin, he was Goblin Jim, and his clan was the White Skins. He was naked, expected for his torn cloth leggings and the thick club in his right hand.

He lifted the club menacingly and the Goblins moved forward as one, crouching and ducking into the long grass. This would be a night to remember for all humans, his club would taste the flesh of man tonight. Suddenly, the cloud that once covered the moon moved and the grass was bathed in light. Nearly directly ahead of them, a Bosmer with a green bandanna was pushing through the grass absently. Goblin Jim grinned to himself, a half-toothed smile, and moved forward swiftly, his Whiteskins following.


	3. Oh Fuc

**The Game**

**A Oblivion Fan-Fic**

By Chaslin

**Disclaimer**: I claim none of Oblivion's properties; I make no profit from the writing of this story.

**Warnings**: Violence

**Author's Note**: Took a while :P

Chapter 2: Oh Fuc...

_Sometimes, Life Really Sucks_

Rain stared at the simple golden ring in his palm as he walked through the long grass outside Elmwood Village, trying to determine its value. It didn't seem to be enchanted and wasn't particularly heavy. Just a simple golden ring. He sighed and clenched his hand over the piece of jewelery.

He could still sell the thing when they finally arrived at a half-decent town, and he could get a meal for himself at least. The Bosmer licked his lips in anticipation; how long had it been since he had had pork? And potatoes. The proper cooked ones, not those Alain pulled out of the ground.

At the thought of Alain, Rain sighed. He could leave right now, find a good town to settle in and begin some con or another. Imperials were so easy to fool this far North, and the Nords were so simple it was just embarrassing.

But he couldn't. He had sworn an oath. And despite being a lying, backstabbing, sneaky, despicable, unreliable, greedy and lazy Bosmer, he still kept his oath. iDespite/i being a Bosmer, he didn't really think well of his race. Feeling guilt for considering to ditch Alain, Rain looked up to give the forest one last glimpse before returning to the Inn.

And he was rewarded with a surprising picture.

"Oh fuc.."

* * *

_Mara?_ Alain thought back at Akatosh, a bit skeptically. _Isn't she meant to be beautiful?_

_She is _Akatosh replied. _But she's also the Mother of all Creation. Who would consider their own mother beautiful?_

Alain grudgingly admitted he had a point and silently watch from his mind as Akatosh used his body to communicate with Mara. She was looking at him strangely, as if bemused.

"You left yours, Akatosh?" she asked. "It's much easier and less painful for the soul to simply eject it from the body. I did with mine, and I know Julianos did the same. Why didn't you?"

"Julianos?" Akatosh inquired, leaning forward. "You know where Julianos is?" Mara only nodded in reply and put a finger over her lips; she'd tell him later.

They spoke for a while, Akatosh describing their party and how they had aimlessly wandered around Tamriel looking for the other Divines and signs of the Daedra.

Mara smiled, "Well, it is a good thing you found me. Juli-.." She was cut off suddenly a shrill cry that silenced the entire pub. Even if the two deities didn't, Alain recognized it as Rain's.

"_Run! For your mother's sake, run!_" the Bosmers high voice screeched from outside the window; he said something else, but his words were drowned by the sounds of stomping feet and screams.

Akatosh allowed Alain to take control again, which made slight if noticeable changes. His shoulders slouched, and he suddenly looked downward. The Imperial breathed a sigh of relief, it was good to feel like him again. But then he was moving, screams erupted from outside the pub and it's occupants were either scrambling for the door or hiding under tables.

Alain jumped to his feet, his hand gripping his sword hilt. He made a signal for Mara to follow, then pushed his way through the milling crowd in the pub. Screams and yelling filled his ears, and the smell of smoke and sweat clogged his nose. The world spun before him, but he continued to fight his way through the crowd. Then he was free of the enclosed room and outside. The people had spread and ran down the wide dirt streets of the village. He felt Mara arrive behind him and started to speak.

"We have a camp not too far away. The others will know to meet up there and we need to get..." He felt Akatosh's familiar and unwelcomed pressure, building up on his skull.

_We have to see whats wrong. The smoke you smelt earlier; somethings burning. The villagers wouldn't be running from a fire, they'd organise and fight it,_ the God explained patiently. _Which means it isn't a normal fire. That leads to two obvious possibilities; Fire Atronach or raiders._

Neither of those options sounded appealing in Alain's opinion.

But with a heavy sigh, Alain turned to the direction of the screaming. The fires were visible from here, the flames turning the sky red. The streets were nearly empty now, people were either in their homes, trying to fight or fleeing. Alain squinted his eyes and looked down the street.

"What the fuc..."

* * *

Esland was pushed, rather rudely in his opinion, by the panicking crowd out of the inn and into the inn, left to lie undignified on the side of the street. The Breton picked himself up wearily, dusting the dirt of his robe. That little light show had taken a lot out of him and the panicking villagers and the smell of a burning house hinted that he wouldn't be able to sleep well tonight.

He wandered down the street towards the fire slowly, letting the crowd disperse around him. He had already concluded it was an attack, but wasn't about to go charging in. He needed to collect himself, and an attack was always organized until the looting began. In the confusion of lust and greed, Esland concluded he'd have the greatest chance of survival.

He stared down the road where the houses were burning, about one or two. He could see figures running around there, smaller than the average person and slightly hunched. He leaned forward and squited, using his hand to shield himself from the fire's light, not knowing only ten meters behind him, Alain and Mara were staring over his shoulder at the same thing.

"Oh boogers."

* * *

A single white goblin walked through the long grass that came up to it's shoulder, idly fiddling with it's club. The creature watch the first fewhouses of the village get set alight, looking on with fiendish envy as it's brethren surrounded and then attacked the town. Some had gotten excited it seemed, and begun the attack before they were all in position.

His task was to 'watch and wait'. He hissed in contempt, why did he have to watch and wait while his undeserving brothers killed and plundered? It wasn't any fair!

The white-skinned goblin snorted and began walking through the grass. Before it could react, a figure had risen from the grass behind it and cut the creature's throat. The goblin fell into the grass, convulsing.

The Bosmer looked down on it, then lowered himself back into the grass, disappearing from view. That was all the patrols and guards dead. Rain looked over his blood-stained, wicked curved knife. It would be fed plenty before the night was over. With that cheering thought in his mind, Rain turned towards the village and monkey-ran towards it.

* * *

Alain led Mara and Esland through a narrow street in the village that ran adjacent to it's main road. He had withdrawn his Ebony Blade, holding it in a defensive lowered position as he ran forward. Mara had pulled out a sharp knife and ran behind Alain, while Esland supported a rather nasty frown.

Alain held up his hand, telling the other two to stop before peeking a glance around the corner of one of the wooden houses and down a small alley that led to the main street. He slowly sneaked down it and took a look down at the burning buildings.

A band of about twenty white-skinned goblins stood between the two burning buildings, jeering at the flames they had created. They held various weapons; axes, clubs and one held a rusted helmet and short-sword. Several bodies lay on the ground around the area, the fire flickering over them occasionally to reveal the pools of blood they rested in.

Most of the goblins were spread out and either in front of one of the burning buildings, or talking to the sword-wielding goblin who stood in between the two. However, three of the goblins were away from the flames and close to the alley and slowly advancing up the street, all of them evenly spaced.

Alain waited until the goblins were past the alley before moving. He jumped up and made a mighty swing of his sword at the first goblin. Taken by complete surprise, the goblin didn't have enough time to move before it's head soared off it's body, it's corpse falling uselessly to the ground. The other two goblins turned to him, but Alain kept up the attack. The second goblin expected another swing, so it raised it's club to protect it's face. Alain sighed at the foolish mistake before stabbing the creature in it's unprotected stomach.

As the second goblin fell, Alain pulled his sword free of it's stomach in time to block an incoming strike from the third goblins axe. The goblin recoiled and before it could make another strike, Alain slashed his sword across it's throat. Blood spurted out and the goblin collapsed to the ground. The Imperial wiped the blood splatter of his face and looked down the main street, still cloaked in the darkness of the night. There was still a good twenty meters between him and the fire.

The goblins hadn't noticed him, and were still discussing the fire's and talking with sword-goblin. Alain grimaced, why weren't they madly attacking? They seemed...intelligent.

Suddenly all the goblins were nodding in unison as if in agreement and turned to face the darkness. As one, they raised their weapons and ran down the main street and towards Alain.

The Imperial gulped and ducked back into the alley and the side street. The goblins continued to run past the alleyway, ignoring or not seeing the corpses of their patrol, and running to the village heart. When the main mob past, only half a dozen goblins remained. Two were looking at the corpses of the patrol, while the other three had run into one of the houses.

Alain emerged from the alley again, and just as easily as he slew the last three goblins, the other two died as well. He turned to face the house the other goblins had run in, but the only thing that left the house was a sweaty and bloody Rain.

The Bosmer raised his hand in greeting before running over to Alain; the watching Mara and Esland joining them. Rain started talking before anyone had the chance to speak.

"About a hundred of them around the village. They're still coming from the forest to the North and West of here, like waves. I've killed the patrols to the East, we can leave without making a ruckus," he explained, as if several murders wasn't a ruckus.

Akatosh gasped in indulgence inside Alain's head, iThe innocents shall die unless we stop them Alain, we've got to.../i And for the first time in all his years with a Divine in his skull, Alain pushed the voice to the back of his head.

"Let's go then."


End file.
